What Makes A Parent
by TheAlphaWrites
Summary: Steve wants to adopt a child and Tony's reluctant. And then there's Peter. Steve/Tony. Superfamily. Requested.


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Requested by Marlicat and anon on tumblr**

* * *

Honestly, Tony should have expected it.

He and Steve had been in a relationship for six years now; he knew the man well enough. He knew that Steve had always wanted a family, a life outside Captain America. He wanted a partner, kids, a family dog – the whole shebang and Tony…well, Tony wasn't sure what he wanted exactly.

He'd never thought about getting married or having children – maybe as a child he had, but the rebellious years of his adolescence (and most of his adulthood admittedly) had completely wiped the idea from his conscious.

So, when Steve spoke into the peaceful silence of the master bedroom with is declaration, Tony couldn't stop himself tensing in shock.

"A…a baby?"

Steve hummed. He rolled on his back, turning his head to face his lover. He had this soft dreamy smile on his face that made Tony's chest ache. "I want to be a father," he elaborated softly, "I want a child to call me dad, and for me to take care of. A little boy or girl who needs him, who I needed as well; who would cling to me for comfort and safety. I…I want it all Tony, and I want it with you."

Tony didn't want to admit that he was panicking at the very thought. He wasn't cut out to be a father. He didn't exactly have brilliant parental figures to learn from, and everyone knew he wasn't so great when it came to his responsibilities – that came with being self-obsessed, by Steve now argued differently. He was always late, always forgetting important dates. Even eating and sleeping took a back burner whenever he disappeared black into his lab, too distract and immersed in his work to care about the rest of the world – hardly the best attributes in a parent.

Or maybe he was just making up excuses for himself.

All he knew is he couldn't tell Steve. The man was looking at him so hopefully that Tony couldn't bring himself to destroy that by telling the truth. So instead, he forced a sincere smile, something he had perfected over the years, and reached out to hold onto his lover's larger hand. He squeezed the link comfortingly, and said the only thing he could say.

"If that's what you want, I'll do what I can to give you that child," he told the man dutifully.

Steve beamed brightly, automatically drawing into Tony's embrace, peppering kisses along his jaw, his cheek, his neck and lips, murmuring thanks and glee filled statements against his skin, and Tony swallowed guilty around the lump in his throat, only smiling again when Steve pulled back to press one last kiss to his lips.

He wanted Steve to be happy, always would, and would do anything to ensure that, but why did something that made the blond so ecstatic, make him feel sick to his stomach?

* * *

"Sir, Captain Rogers would like to remind you of a meeting with Mrs Clarke of social services at one o'clock," JARVIS' voice broke through the intense silence of the lab, snapping the two workers to attention.

Tony visibly flinched at the reminder. "Ah, yes, just um…" he faltered for a moment, "…just tell Cap that I'll be getting ready soon…"

"Certainly, sir,"

The man sighed heavily, as if suddenly exhausted, like the twenty hours of lab time had finally caught up with him, and dropped into one of his work stalls, running a hand over his face. Bruce pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ran a calculating gaze over his friend, silently coming to his own conclusions. It wasn't something that he hadn't noticed before. Steve spoke with such joy when he referred to the plans of starting a family, whereas Tony...well, Bruce thought maybe he looked a little constipated. He didn't need to be a genius to figure out what that meant. He folded his arms across his chest.

"You don't look all that excited for someone who might be having a baby," he commented.

Tony jerked up surprised, as if he had momentarily forgotten the other man's presence. He shook his head and his mask fell into place. "Huh? Of course I'm excited, I mean, why wouldn't I be? I might be starting a family soon, with the person I love. What's not to be excited about?" his voice at the end took on a slightly hysterical tone, as if he'd been saying the same thing to try and convince himself.

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed worriedly. "Tony, if you're not ready to be a parent, you shouldn't be forced into it to make someone else happy…" he responded cautiously.

"What makes you think that?" Tony shot back defensively. Bruce arched an eyebrow, and he sighed in defeat, his shoulders slumping, "Of course I'm not ready Bruce. I mean, Natasha said it herself - I'm volatile, narcissistic and don't play well with others. It was only recently that I stopped sleeping with anybody with a great pair of legs. Not to mention what I eat – even I know that cheeseburgers and whiskey isn't a stable diet. And then there's the constantly putting myself in dangerous situations. Come on, I'm hardly father material."

"Steve seems to think you are," Bruce pointed out.

"But Steve always looks for the good in people," Tony argued, "and he wants this so much, I think he's blind to the truth, but…I can't take it away from him. I already take so much and this, I can't…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

"That's not a good enough reason to adopt a child. This isn't just about you and Steve – it's about this child as well. You should be sure about what you're doing. Tell Steve, he loves you, he'll understand…" Bruce urged.

Of course, Tony knew he was right. It wouldn't be fair on the child who would have to live with him as a father, clueless and skittish, and it wouldn't be fair on Steve to lie to him about something so important. But he just couldn't. This is what Steve really truly wanted. If Tony told him the truth about how he felt, Steve would pretend he was okay, probably be angry that he had taken so long to tell him, but would say they could get through it, that it doesn't matter; that he loves him and wouldn't do anything he wasn't completely ready for. But secretly, he would resent him. For getting his hopes up, for lying to him, for being the barrier between him and the family he needs. No, he couldn't do that to him. He couldn't live with it.

When Tony didn't answer, Bruce continued, "…It's your choice Tony, your life. I can't tell you want to do…but, for the record, I think you and Steve will be great parents."

Tony's lips twisted into a bittersweet smile, eyes focused downwards and didn't know how to reply. He wanted to believe it, he did, but he knew it was only said to make him feel better. Steve would be the good parent – the one who said the right words, who would hold them when they were sad, hurt or scared; who would read books and sing songs, and play games and who the child would love unconditionally. And he…he just hoped he didn't screw up so badly that the child grew up despising him. He knew that strong hatred for someone, had been that kid before, and he didn't want to be on the receiving end of those dark emotions.

"I need to have a shower," he finally murmured, standing up and moving towards the exit of the lab, "Got to make a good impression, right?"

* * *

Mrs Abigail Clarke was a short, stout woman. Her wispy blond hair, streaked with grey strands, was cut into a short bob that curved tight to the base of her neck. Narrow brown eyes, dulled with age, stared through wire frame spectacles that were constantly seated on the bridge of her nose. She was their case worker, had been assigned to oversee everything. She was pleasant enough and Steve had commented more than once that she was amazingly helpful and well educated in the field of adoption – "She's had three children of her own, adopted two and offered foster care for ten others while the organisation was trying to find a permanent home for them," Steve had told him, "She definitely knows what she's doing."

Now, the woman sat across from them, a small pile of folders angled straight in front of her, her hands resting on them. She smiled welcomingly before speaking.

"Mr Stark, Captain Rogers, I want you to understand what this meeting is going to be about. Now, as you've both been given the all clear – despite your job situation and Mr Stark's, um, _colourful_ past, which took a lot of convincing, let me tell you – so today you'll be looking at potential candidates for the adoption process. I've already got a few pic-"

"Already, I mean, it's it a little soon?" Tony questioned, trying to keep the panicked edge from his voice. He was expecting a few weeks, a few months – a year, tops – not a few_ days_.

"Well, usually there's a couple of weeks between the all clear and the first meeting, but these children are…well, they're special," Abigail admitted, "and we want them to be homed and settled as soon as possible, for their own wellbeing. Like I was saying, I've already picked out a few choices that I think would be excellent additions to your home."

"How many would we have to meet today?" Steve wondered.

"Well, that's entirely up to you two. I've got six children ready to meet you today, but if you don't know whether you're ready to make a decision, or if you'd like to meet some more of the children, then we can arrange that for you. You'll get to spend some time with them, get to know them a little and vice versa," she explained, "Unfortunately, there won't be much time now but once you find a child that you could see yourself with, and they agree, you'll be able to get to know them better, and take them out of the facility. All your meetings today will last about 10-15 minutes, all of which will be observed, for safety reasons. Is that okay? Do you understand everything? Anything you want to ask? No? Excellent, well, here are the children's files – I'll give you some privacy to look them over and when you're ready, I'll bring the first child in."

Steve turned to Tony excitedly when Abigail left the room, shutting the door with a quiet click. He gripped the worn hands in his hand, a wide beam on his face. "Can you believe it? We might just be minutes away from meeting out future son or daughter."

"Yeah…yeah, it's pretty amazing," Tony forced a smile. His stomach churned and for a moment, he felt as if he might be sick.

Steve frowned deeply. "Are you okay? You're looking a little…green…"

"Uh, y-yeah, I'm fine. Just…nerves I guess," Stark was quick to assure.

"You shouldn't be," the blond stated firmly, squeezing his hand comfortingly, "Maybe it's a little faster than we expected, but that doesn't change anything. You'll make a wonderful daddy, and whoever we take home in the end will love you, just like I do."

Steve would never lie to him; he knew that – it just wasn't in his nature. He'd once told Tony that lies always ended up hurting the people you love, and it just wasn't worth it – _"I mean, just look at Coulson and Barton. Phil faked his death in order to get us motivated to save the world – a noble cause, in a sense – but when Clint found out, it took ages for him to forgive and forget. And you could see how much it was hurting the both of them. It just…it's just not worth it."_ - Steve was always wonderfully blunt and honest about everything, especially in such serious, life changing circumstances.

_Steve would never lie to me; Steve would never lie to me; Steve would never lie to me._

The statement circled in his mind, like a chant, like the more he said it, the more it might actually come true. He grasped tightly at the words, willing himself to believe them.

_Steve would never lie to me; Steve would never lie to me; Steve would never lie to me._

The tension left his shoulders, if only slightly.

Admittedly, Tony didn't actually think he'd like any of the kids. Between his nerves about the whole situation and his need to make Steve happy, it just hadn't occurred to him. And, at first it still hadn't.

The first that came out was loud and obnoxious, announcing that he should become a part of their family because "only people like me should be part of something as amazing as the Avengers". He'd had to bite his tongue to stop from putting the little brat in his place. The second was just over excited, sweet maybe, but too much like those crazed fans that stood outside the Avengers Mansion during press conferences and shouted about their imaginary marriages and children – a little unnerving on a seven year old.

But the third kid, he was…he was something different.

Peter Parker was four years old, orphaned when he was two after his parents died in a plane crash. He was scrawny and short, perhaps too short for his age, and he was made to look even smaller when he was lifted onto the chair and his legs dangled high off the floor. He had these massive black frames, too large for his face, Tony felt, held together in the corners with clumps of tape. They slipped periodically down the slope of his nose and he would push them back up, blinking beadily. He kept his hands locked his lap and smiled hesitantly at them, the nerves clear on his face.

"Hi Peter, I'm Steve and this is Tony," the blond greeted softly.

"…You're Captain America and you're Iron Man," he stated, much calmer than the two who came before. Rather, he seemed almost…surprised.

"Yes, is that okay?" Steve inquired.

Peter looked thoughtfully. "You'd come back right, from fighting the bad guys?"

He blinked surprised. "Of course we would…"

"Only my mummy and daddy didn't come back, and if you became my daddies, I would want you to come back."

"We'd always try to come home…" Tony responded lowly, "…We always try to come home, and we'd try so much harder to get home for any child we take as our own."

Peter seemed to accept the answer, nodding. He kicked his legs out. "Okay."

"Is there anything else you want to know about us?" Steve asked. When Peter shrugged, he pressed on, "Okay, how about we ask you a question: what do you like to do when you're not in school?"

"…I like to build things," he admitted with an almost embarrassed tinge to his voice, ducking his head.

"That's great. Tony's a bit of an inventor himself. What kind of things do you build?" Steve encouraged.

Tony bit down on a response that threatened to get out – a _bit_ of an inventor? _Tony Stark?_ Please! He wasn't 'a bit of an' anything! He took _complete_ offense to that accusation – and instead, he leant forward in his seat interestedly.

"Hmm, I made web blasters with Velcro straps and silly string," Peter answered, "It was just a pro-toe-type for the real one I wanted to make, but the Beast took it away from me," he finished disgruntled.

"The Beast?" Tony repeated amused. He quirked an eyebrow.

"That's Miss Carrington," his voice dropped into a stage whisper, common in young children, "She's really scary."

"Is she really?"

"Yup," Peter nodded, his seriousness clear in his face and in his words, which only made Tony want to smile, "So, Mr Stark, is it true you made the iron man suit all by yourself? And that the first suit was made by scrap metal from your come-pane-is own weapons? Oh, and that the arc reactor runs all of Stark Tower now? It uses ell-ectro-mag-net-ick pulls, right?"

"Call me Tony, and where did you learn all of that?" he asked, amazed.

"I read," Peter answered simply, "So is it true?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's true, and the arc reactor runs Avengers Mansion, where we live, and about fifty other companies worldwide now, and counting," Tony replied, "So I take it you're kind of smart then? Smarter than most kids your age?"

"I guess…" the child shrugged, a shy look on his face; something that struck a knowing chord in Tony and his heart clenched in empathy. Steve seemed to understand the meaning of the expression as well; was quick to step in and fix it.

"Being smart isn't anything to be ashamed of. In fact, it's something to be celebrated. If anything, it makes you _extra_ special, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"…Really?" Peter's voice was low and unsure, maybe a little disbelieving.

Steve gave him an approving smile. "Of course, would I lie?"

Tony wasn't entirely sure what it was – the smile that gradually spread across his face, or maybe it was the familiar certainly in his voice when he responded with, "Captain America never lies," – but something struck within him. In an instant, Peter was him, Tony Stark as a child, quiet and embarrassed; eager with an adult took an interest in him. He could see himself sitting behind the desk, legs swinging between the legs of the chair, saying exactly the same things, acting exactly the same way. It had been a standard in his house. His father took little notice of his inventions, had made him believe more than once that he was just in the way. In fact, the only memories he had of his father, when it was just the two of them, no ill feelings between them, was when Howard would tell him stories about Captain America, his friend and the hero. "Captain America never lies," he had said and Tony would echo it until the words didn't need rehearsing, he always just _knew_.

It was then that all he wanted to do was take Peter and make sure he was never ashamed of how he was, or what he could do. That his genius was something to be rejoiced all the time, rather than for someone's own benefit. There were more than enough children growing up like that; Peter didn't need to join the ranks.

So, when Steve turned to him after they'd officially met the six children, and asked what he thought, Tony didn't even need to think twice.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to adopt me?" Peter questioned uncertainly for the tenth time since they had first announced their intentions.

"Positive, I promise," Steve told him without a hint of doubt in his voice, something that seemed to release some of the tension in the boy's shoulders.

The entire adoption process had taken over a month. Apart from the seemingly endless pile of paperwork that had to be done, the time consisted of the soon-to-be parents spending time with their soon-to-be son. Peter had been introduced to what would be his new home, the newly converted Avengers Mansion; to the rest of the Avengers, who had immediately taken a shine to the shy little boy, hiding behind Steve's leg; shown to what would now be his room, across the hall from the master bedroom that Steve and Tony shared ("All for me?" he had asked, wide-eyed in his disbelief and awe).

But now, _finally_, he was officially _theirs_: Peter Rogers-Stark.

They were standing in his room at the orphanage, one that he shared with some kid called Flash, packing the last of his clothes and other belongings into an old leather suitcase – "it was my father's, one of the only things I have from him," Peter had explained quietly when he pulled it out from under his bed.

"Alright, is that everything?" Tony inquired, clapping his hands and peering questioningly around the small room.

"Almost," Peter responded, already dropping his suitcase to the floor and crouching down to lift a floorboard from its place by the window. Carefully, he dug out what appeared to be an aerosol can, before pulling the board back in place. He flushed under the adult's curious gaze. "I got my web blasters back," he muttered in way of explanation.

Steve chuckled his amusement and clapped the boy on the shoulder, easily leading him from the room. Tony stayed behind for a moment, his nerves swelling violently once more.

Because this was it. There was no way back now. Peter Parker was now his _son_. He was the _father_ of Peter Rogers-Stark. He took in a shuddered breath, and tried to calm himself down.

_You can do this. Peter is a good kid, you'll be fine. You can do this; you can do this; you can do this; you are Tony Stark and you can do this; you…_

…_can't do this. You can't do this. Oh god, you can't do this. You totally can't do this. What the fuck were you thinking? You can't do this. You can't…_

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to stop the screaming in his mind with a firm shake of his head.

It didn't help.

* * *

The music was turned off suddenly; making Tony jerk violently, the edge of the blow torch singeing the edge of his work table. He yanked off his safety goggles and glared darkly at the ceiling.

"Damn it JARVIS, what was that about?" he demanded.

"Sir, young Peter is outside the lab. Should I grant access?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, of course," Tony waved his hand, "Let him in."

Peter had been living with them, had become apart of their family, only a few weeks and, Tony wasn't proud to admit it, he had spent most of that time down in the lab. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with Peter, he did, and he was around for all the important times of day – breakfast, the school drop, dinner, bedtime – but he didn't know, maybe the less time he spent around the boy, the less time he had to screw everything up.

And now Peter was standing in front of him.

He looked both nervous and awed, his little feet shuffling, and his eyes wide as he peered around, trying to take everything in. He clutched a bundle tightly to his chest and slowly approached his daddy.

Tony tried a confident smile. "What's up kiddo?"

"Uh, um, a-are you busy?" Peter stammered out the question.

"Never too busy for you," he responded easily, "What do you need?"

"…Can you help me?" the little boy inquired, "With my web blasters?"

"Huh? Oh, sure. Bring them up here," Tony beckoned Peter closer, and watched as he rose up on his tiptoes to push the objects in his arms onto the worktop. He examined it for a moment, recognising it instantly as the silly string prototype that he had created before they had met. "What do you need help with?"

"I can't seem to get my plan to work," Peter finally answered frustration in his voice, "I want to make my own thread, but I can't seem to find the right material."

"Hmm, I take it you want something malleable and, uh, fluid I guess. Something that can cut easily through the air and attaches to walls and buildings and stuff, like a real spider's web?"

He nodded eagerly. "Yes, exactly. And with enough weight to support the weight of a human." He flushed when Tony arched an eyebrow at him.

Stark chuckled. "I'm not sure Steve would be too happy about the weight thing, but I think I might have something that can help…"

* * *

Steve found them in the lab four hours later, when they were late for dinner. The room that was usually littered with engineering equipment and bits of scrap metal, loud rock music echoing loudly, barely restrained by the soundproof walls, and with the distinct smell was, well…covered in what looked like spider's webs. They hung from the high ceiling like props from a B-rate horror movie, brushing and sometimes clinging to Steve's face as he pushed through them. And there, in there of the mess, were his two boys.

Tony was passed out across the well-used sofa, half his body looking as if he were about to fall, but Steve had spent enough time in Tony's bed to know otherwise. He was snoring sharply on every inhale and muttering nonsense under his breath as he dreamed. Peter was dozing against his chest, body rested in the crook of his arm, and he blinked beadily up Steve when he heard his footsteps against the flooring. He yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"What have you two being doing down here?" Steve questioned warmly in a low voice, not wanting to wake his partner. Although Tony was getting better with his sleeping habits, Steve knew he wasn't getting nearly enough asleep as he should.

Peter seemed to perk up instantly. "Da helped me fix my web blasters, wanna see?"

He climbed over Tony's body carefully when he received an approving nod in reply, before rushing across to the lab and grasping what looked like a red bracelet from the table top. He attached it to his wrist – "It's still Velcro at the moment, but Da said that he'd work on something better," – aimed and fired. The thread sliced through the air and stuck high up on the wall. Peter was grinning widely when he tugged to test the hold and, for one panicked minute, Steve thought he looked as if he wanted to swing but resisted.

"It's strong, it can hold me, but Da said I should only play with it when he's around so he can make sure I don't get hurt and upset you," Peter explained solemnly, "But it's my new web blaster, do you like it?"

"Like it? I love it," Steve praised, sweeping the boy off the ground and into a tight hug, and he squealed happily, and clutched back tightly, "My boys are clever ones, aren't you? This is amazing Peter, very well done. How about we have ice cream for dessert to celebrate?"

Peter looked at him hopefully. "Chocolate with cookies on top?"

Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Whatever you want." He promised, before placing him back on his feet. "Now, go get washed up for dinner. I'm going to get your Da up."

The four year old nodded eagerly and took off from the lab. Steve watched him go, waiting until he had disappeared from view on the staircase, tightly grasping the bannister to help himself along, before turning his attention to Tony. He crouched at his side and ran a loving hand through his hair, a fond smile on his face.

Tony hummed in pleasure, sleepily leaning into the gentle touch. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked tiredly at Steve. He suppressed a yawn and glanced around him with mild concern. "Where's spidey gone off to?" he questioned, his voice gravelled with sleep.

Steve's only response was a smile, so wide Tony would call it a beam and he scanned his mind for what he could have done to be awarded with that wonderful look. Steve pressed a kiss to his lips, automatically allowing it be deepened with the flick of Tony's tongue against his bottom lip. He skilfully sucked on the probing muscle and pulled back to watch his lover stared dazedly up at him.

"What did I do to deserve that?" he voiced, "Then I'll make sure to do it again."

Steve traced the man's lips with his finger and smiled. "I told you that you'd be a wonderful father, _Da_." He teased.

And, for the first time, Tony may actually believe him.


End file.
